


Home for the Holidays

by nomdeplume13



Series: Home in Motion Universe [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Domestic, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Injured Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:32:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomdeplume13/pseuds/nomdeplume13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the holiday season nears, Dean is injured and Castiel is at a loss for how to help him. A familiar face emerges, and new information is learned about Crowley's background. This is part of the Home in Motion Universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Your Average Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> This is from the Home in Motion universe. Reading isn't absolutely necessary, but is recommended. What you need to know is that Sam has a girlfriend named Emma and Cas and Dean have an established relationship and a toddler they adopted named Johnny. I am sorry this wasn't posted closer to Christmas, but law school consumed me. I hope you all enjoy another glimpse into this universe. Also, for a bit of pimping, if you like a bit of humor with your SPN, I manage a blog on tumblr, Texts from Last Apocalypse, combining Supernatural and Texts from Last Night. (My only plug for the site, I swear.)
> 
> As always, I don't own Supernatural and I don't profit from it.

**Chapter 1**

**Not Your Average Hunt**

_"As we struggle with shopping lists and invitations, compounded by December's bad weather, it is good to be reminded that there are people in our lives who are worth this aggravation, and people to whom we are worth the same." - Donald E. Westlake, American writer._

The ghost hunt in Nebraska was pushing it a little close to Christmas, but there were some positives to being away from Sioux Falls with his brother for a couple of days. It had given them a chance to hustle a little pool last night, which would go a long way during a down season for mechanic work and help his broke, I'm-getting-ready-to-go-to-law-school brother get something nice for his girlfriend. It also gave Dean a chance to go shopping without Cas and Johnny in tow and spend a little time with his brother on what he expected to be an easy hunt. Though Sam kept assuring him they could hunt as usual, Dean knew better. He'd been reading a lot online to help him know what it would be like having his brother in law school; there were even online support groups for significant others dealing with their partners' stress and time constraints. Sam might still be delusional enough to think his life wasn't going to change once he got into law school, but Dean was prepared.

It was still morning, about an hour before the library opened and Sam could get in his geeky research. They were roaming one of those big box marts near the site of the disappearances and doing double duty by shopping and asking people questions about the strange disappearances. Dean didn't usually bother with these places because they required a membership and he never thought ahead enough to forge the card, but that Charlie Bradbury had given them fake IDs and memberships for just about every police agency, organization and state that they could think of. Now that he had sampled—literally, because they did free samples every other aisle, it seemed—the bulk shopping life, he didn't think he was ever going back. He was going to get a legitimate membership back in Sioux Falls and stock Bobby's kitchen and pantry with bulk everything. He was pretty sure he could buy enough food they could ride out the next three Apocalypses, easy.

He was now meandering down the aisles, sampling free appetizers, sports drinks and mini quiches, which he considered horribly miscast as a girly food because they were awesome. He had hit all of the tables at least once, and he knew the freebies would run out soon. It was probably time to check out, so he made his way to the shortest line at the front of the store and began setting his purchases on the conveyor belt. He'd gotten a massive tub of cheeseballs and a pie because it was there and it was pie. He'd also grabbed some toys for Johnny, just some odds and ends he didn't feel obligated to buy with Cas's presence and approval. Most importantly had been a big set of toy cars made for toddlers, which he'd had to choose carefully. The things all had faces, and some of the sets had demon cars in them that would put "Christine" to shame.

He'd also picked up an MP3 player for Cas, with all the trappings to play in the Valiant when he went on a drive. It wasn't an iAnything, but it had a three-year warranty and was a brand he recognized. It woudl be good enough to let Cas play his classical music. Bobby's place got lousy reception of the local public stations that played the stuff, and Dean had salvaged the old radio in the thing, so CDs weren't even an option.

He saw Sam wandering a little aimlessly and he actually saw the idiot starting to head for the jewelry department. "Sam," he said loud enough that it made his brother turn to face him. "She makes jewelry. Stay out of there. Nothing good will come of that."

Dean watched his big, dumb brother hesitate for a moment, go blank, panic, and then finally seem to come up with something better. He darted off somewhere else in the store, and Dean was grateful that he'd knocked some sense into him. He really didn't know what Sam was thinking even glancing at the jewelry department for a woman who handmade her own stuff from sculpting and melting on up.

He guessed that he couldn't blame him entirely, since his own thoughts had been turning to jewelry. At least, one specific piece of jewelry that was currently in the pocket of his coat. The dinged-up old ring wasn't really a Christmas gift. He wasn't even sure he'd get the nerve up by Christmas. For now, he just told himself he was waiting for the right moment.

Sam wasn't exactly quiet as his lumbering footsteps came up behind him. "So, it's okay for Cas to have this set-up in his car, but not me?" Sam asked as they were checking out.

"Wasn't your car," Dean replied as he paid the cashier. "That was Baby. And there isn't any way Cas can make that Valiant any uglier." Cas loved that weird-looking car, but Dean still liked to rag on it. "And if you're nice to him, Cas might let you use the radio jack so you can listen to your mellow rock crap when you borrow the car." If there was one plus about the Valiant coming into Dean's life, it was that Sam tended to choose it over the Impala. Cas was nowhere near as protective of it as Dean was the Impala, and it also got better gas mileage with its smaller engine. "So what did you get her?"

"New soldering gun. Hers is practically a fire hazard."

Dean grinned. Sam wasn't oblivious when it came to tools, but he wasn't exactly a mechanic or engineer, himself, so as an older brother, he appreciated that Sam's girlfriend was making him more aware of the world of tools and hardware. They both paid for their purchases while pitying the poor woman who looked like she had heard enough Christmas music and dealt with enough harried shoppers to last her a lifetime. Dean would take the monsters of Christmas shoppers.

It wasn't until they were a few feet away that Sam brought up the case. "So, get this, while I was waiting for the employee to get the soldering gun out of the locked case, I was talking to another guy in the hardware department about the ghost. He said only men had gone missing."

"You thinking a woman in white?" Dean asked as he steered them toward the in-store fast food joint near the exit.

"You're not seriously still hungry," Sam said sounding far more incredulous than he had any right to after nearly thirty years as Dean's brother. "I know for a fact you've eaten your way through this store, hitting up every sample stand in the place."

"They have giant pretzels here, plus wifi. Go get your computer while I order. You can research a little before the library opens."

Dean stood in line behind a mother with a boy who looked to be about four. The kid was raising a fit about wanting a toy that he hadn't gotten, and he looked about five seconds away from full meltdown. The mom was busy texting someone, totally ignoring the kid. It was a tactic that might have worked with some children, not indulging them with extra attention, but it was only making this one worse. Dean hoped they weren't going to be sticking around to start his day off with a headache. He knew this wasn't a fancy restaurant where strict rules of decorum applied, but he liked to think that even a big box mart wasn't exempted from common decency.

Watching this kid have his tantrum made him miss his own well behaved kid at home. He hardly registered he'd done it before he had his phone out and a text sent to Cas asking how they were getting along without him. The reply came shortly after.

_We are well, though I would argue strongly with the company that claims its baby shampoo is "no tear."_

Dean frowned.  _it got in his eyes? poor kid._

_It did. I feel quite guilty, as I was the one giving him his bath._

_it happens and he'll forgive you if he hasn't already._

_He did immediately, which had the opposite effect. I feel guiltier._  There was no time for Dean to reply before Cas sent another text,  _How is the hunt going?_

_looks like it's a woman in white. only men going missing._

_Be careful, Dean._  Almost as an afterthought, Cas added,  _And don't get tempted._

_Not a chance._

"Sir?" the boy at the counter asked to get Dean's attention.

"Sorry," he said before ordering coffee for both him and Sam, plus one of the big pretzels that had been taunting him from the moment he walked into the store. Plus cheese dip because who wants a good pretzel without some cheese dip.

The mom and the screaming kid had left, and Dean was able to find a relatively unsticky table near an outlet before he settled down to text with Cas. He swore he could hear his partner's beleaguered sigh through the screen when Dean told him of his unhealthy snack. Hey, if there was one perk to dating an angel, it ought to be artery clearing.

#

This was supposed to be an easy hunt. Dean refused to let them separate because he didn't want to risk a repeat of their last encounter with a woman in white. Sam wasn't sure there was a rule that a woman in white could only attack someone alone in their car, but there was probably one that said it couldn't attack a man head over heels in love with an angel. That wasn't to say Sam wasn't in love with Emma, but he had a history of avoiding certain topics with the women he had loved in the past. He'd never told Jess about the family business, and that had caught up with him last time.

They'd driven for a few hours along the same stretch of road until they spotted a light on at a house that, for all intents and purposes, should have been abandoned. They went in, still bracing for a ghost, only to find they were mistaken.

"Hello boys," a not unfamiliar Irish voice said. "It's been too long. I've already wrapped up my card game, so there's nothing for you to break up."

Since Sam had won the last game against Patrick, and the warlock had lost his lover as a result, he didn't expect to be on friendly terms with the Irishman. He considered the possibility that he would want them dead, but he had expected the warlock to talk, if for no other reason than to demonstrate how superior he was to the hunters. Sam was embarrassingly caught off guard when he was slammed against the wall hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. He heard his brother yelling his name as Sam was gasping for air.

He wasn't even able to warn Dean that Patrick was now speaking Enochian or to avoid the cool blue glow that moved to engulf the older brother. Sam's brain barely had time to pray to Cas before Dean was screaming in agony and the angel appeared at his side. He turned on the warlock only to have Patrick vanish into the air.

Cas looked between the space where Patrick stood and Dean now lay on the floor, obviously trying to prioritize on the fly. He spared a glance at Sam, and it became apparent that in this triage, he was the least of the angel's concerns. Sam wasn't surprised that Cas chose to heal Dean before giong after the warlock. He couldn't seem to stand Dean's pain lasting a moment longer.

The moment that Cas's hand cupped Dean's cheek, though, the hunter let out a sharp cry. "His leg was broken, is broken," Cas said as the muscle in Dean's jaw twitched as he tried not to make another noise. Dean had always been good at that, suffering in silence. "It broke the moment my Grace tried to heal him." He stared at Dean, wide-eyed and lost.

"The spell sounded Enochian," Sam supplied, "and there was a blue light." He and Castiel were both kneeling at either of Dean's sides.

"The spell must be what is preventing me from healing you," Cas said. He placed his hand on Dean's cheek again, causing the hunter to wince. The angel pulled his hand back as though burned. "That hurt." It wasn't a question, though Dean nodded his head in response. "I'm sorry. He moved his hand to the hunter's covered arm.

"If Cas can't heal you, we need to get you to a hospital," Sam said.

"Better take the Impala," Dean grunted out, as Cas's hand hovered above him. "No offense." He wrapped his arm around each of their shoulders, and the angel's arm slowly found its spot about Dean's waist, as though he was afraid of hurting him again. They were slow in getting Dean out of the house and down the rickety and half-collapsed porch on one foot without hurting Dean any further.

"Fuck," Dean swore before asking them both to wait a moment. They paused on the bottom step, waiting for the hunter to regain his bearings. "Cas," he hissed. "Do you think you can find the bastard to reverse this?" Sam was impressed his brother could managed full sentences through the strain in his voice. "Put some of your family on finding him if you need to. Can't have a witch who can mess with Grace running around."

"Get Azrael," Dean managed before allowing a cry to escape as he shifted his leg too much trying to open the passenger rear door of the Impala. SAm dared a glance at Cas, who looked a little put off at the specific call for help.

"That's probably a good idea," Sam added, trying to placate his friend. "We already know that a lot of the usual angel proofing doesn't work on her, and I bet if Patrick knows we have an angel on our shoulders, he'll ward his safehouse. I'll bet he won't know about Azrael." Cas opened the door to the Impala as they guided Dean into the rear seat. Sam winced with each grunt and shout of pain as they moved his brother back until he was against the opposite door. The car was, thankfully, wide enough to let Dean stretch his leg across the seat without being forced to bend it.

"I will get my amulet as well," the angel said. The amulet, worn by one of Cas's siblings to disguise her angel nature, was probably the safest way they could actually touch one another without Cas causing Dean pain. Though it was subtle, the two seemed to always be touching if they were ithin any priximity of one another.

"Sorry," Dean said.

"It is not your fault," Cas said before shutting the car door. Sam was in the process of opening the driver's door as he felt a hand on his arm. He saw his brother's partner looking at him imploringly.

"Sam," Cas began, but stopped as though he couldn't find the words for what else to say.

"It is not your fault," Cas said before shutting the car door. He looked like he wanted to do more, to touch or kiss as they tended to do. He saw his brother's partner looking at him imploringly.

"Sam—"

"I'll take care of him. You find the bastard who hurt him and get him to find this."

#

Azrael was not nearly as harsh in dealing with the warlock as Castiel would have preferred,but it was still appealing to see her holding him aloft by the collar of his expensive suit. "It really isn't fair," he said. "I was prepared for the angels, but not for ... that." he waved an arm in the general direction of the female angel, who Castiel was beginning to suspect wasn't entirely an angel, if at all. "How does someone avoid something like you?"

"You don't," she said as she set him on the ground in front of Castiel, "though you continue to try."

Castiel grabbed the lapels of the man's expensive suit and pulled him forcibly so that they were standing nose to nose. "You will tell me what you did to Dean."

"Or what? You plan to give me whiplash?"

The cheeky, stubborn response stoked Castiel's anger. "You will fix this! Now!"

"Would if I could, but I'm still working on the counter-spell," the man said. "And if it means anything, I'm sorry I had to use Dean as my guinea pig."

"You tested a spell on Dean without knowing what it would do?" Castiel asked, hardly able to ask questions he probably should have been in his anger.

"It might be wise to explain the why and how you did it, before Castiel rips your head off to see if your death is a possible cure," Azrael said. "And though it might resolve the imbalance you create in the universe, I'm relatively certain you didn't put death in your itinerary for today."

"I'm protecting myself against Fergus," the Irishman said.

"Crowley? Why would you need protection from him? And why would you think Crowley would deal with angels now?" Castiel asked.

"It wouldn't be a first," Patrick said, looking pointedly at him, and if he wasn't so furious with the man, Castiel might have felt a twinge of guilt at the reminder of his deal with the demon. "But I figure sooner or later he's going to remember where he came from."

Though Castiel wanted to ask what the warlock meant by that, Azrael said, "I wasn't aware any humans knew about that." She turned to Castiel and clarified, "He was a cherub."

Patrick laughed. "I knew he was an angel, but I hadn't expected he was a cupid. It's hard to picture him as a matchmaker. If he got thrown out, I don't imagine he was a very good one."

"He was bad at following orders, not at his job. Michael and some of his followers decided they were ready to start the Apocalypse a few centuries ago, but that required a little selective breeding to strengthen the line and its connection back to Cain and Abel. Michael wanted a strong vessel. It would take a few generations to make happen, but Crowley could see what was coming. He was very opposed to helping spur the Apocalypse and began pairing off the children descended from Cain and Abel to partners who would dilute the line or even end their branch of the family tree."

That meant Crowley had not only been one of Castiel's brothers, but he had protected it by delaying the birth of acceptable vessels for Michael and Lucifer. If it were not for him, Dean wouldn't exist. It was a alien feeling for Castiel to be thankful to the King of Hell.

"He knew he was going to be thrown out of heaven, so he fell and born to human parents. Or rather, as human as a century old witch and his paramour." Azrael was looking at Patrick again, and Castiel now had his answer as to why the King of Hell would want the witch dead.

"Paramour is a bit of an exaggeration," Patrick said. "It was a one-night-stand while I was visiting Scotland and I'd even used a spell to keep her from finding herself in a family way. I didn't know I'd be working against a fallen angel needing a mum. She had a husband, and it was easier for her to pawn the kid off on him. At least until the kid started announcing that this man wasn't his daddy. He tracked me down when he was a teenager, told me how his family had gone to hell because he knew his father wasn't the man raising him, but he didn't think I was, either.

"He hasn't tried to track you down since then?" Castiel asked. "Not even to cash in on your demon deal?"

"I cleared that deal back in the middle ages," Patrick said. "The demon I made it with wasn't very smart. And I have done my best to stay clear of him, but I keep hearing all this rumbling about Heaven being under new leadership, more forgiveness for bad acts and stupid demon deals. He isn't going to take that lying down for long, and I want safe from him or anyone he partners with."

"But how did you cast that spell?" Castiel asked.

Patrick reached into his shirt to show an old vial containing what was undeniably grace. "This helps to power it, and before you get pissed at me for holding on to some angel's grace, you should know it's Crowley's."

"One day," he continued, "I think he'll remember, and he will be coming after me for knowing what I know. And for this." He reached into his shirt where an old corked vial held what was undeniably someone's grace. "I got a little suspicious that I would have a son with a story as strange as his and started looking for how that would happen."

"I find it surprising that Crowley hasn't tried to revoke your demon deal," Castiel said. Crowley was a stickler for contracts and fulfilling bargains.

"I cleared that centuries ago," the warlock said. "The demon I made it with wasn't very smart. And I have done my best to stay clear of Fergus so he doesn't get any ideas. I consider myself lucky that he hasn't seen me as a target."

"He might if he knows you have that," Azrael said, hooking her finger beneath the leather cord at Patrick's neck. Castiel took some small pleasure in the fact that the man's blood seemed to run cold at the other angel's proximity.

"I bet he would," Patrick said, swallowing visibly as Azrael set the vial back under his shirt. He began to speak, but his voice cracked and squeaked out of his control. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Well, now that we have that settled, I suppose I should begin working on a counterspell," the other angel said.

"I agree," Castiel said.

"I don't suppose there is any chance I'll be able to do that away from you." Castiel almost felt the need to give the warlock credit for trying to wriggle away. "I promise that I will begin working on this for Dean."

Castiel grabbed the warlock's arm and transported them to Bobby's home, landing directly in the panic room. "Forgive me for not trusting you," he said to the warlock as Azrael appeared at their side. She waved a thin hand and created bindings not entirely visible to the naked eye.

"You're going to leave me a sitting duck?" Patrick asked, as he began to look around the room with increasing fear.

"Lead lined and covered in salt," Castiel said, knocking on the nearest wall. "Devil's trap above and below, Enochian sigils on each wall. Only archangels can get through, and there are only five of us.

None of us want to see you dead, at least as long as you are working on a way to fix Dean's leg."

"You mean there are only five of you on the surface," Patrick said. "If Fergus starts getting his memory back, he may not be so opposed to letting his big brothers out."

"That isn't going to happen," Castiel said. "No one is getting out of that cage."

Patrick sat on one of the chairs. "They used to say that about Houdini's tricks, too."


	2. Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas brings Dean home, the long way.

" _A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together."_

― Garrison Keillor,  _Leaving Home_

Castiel arrived outside hospital, pulling his amulet over his head. The Hand of Fatima that once belonged to Zedkiel dampened his Grace, but didn't eliminate it entirely. He hoped it would be sufficient to protect Dean from the pain his Grace now caused him. He tucked the silver symbol beneath his winter coat and flannel shirt as he passed through the automatic doors at the front.

Sam had texted him to let him know that Dean had been admitted to the hospital overnight and had a room number, which he promptly gave to the elderly man at the information desk.

"I'm sorry, young man," he said. "Visiting hours aren't for another two hours."

"Please, Sir," Castiel said, trying to remain polite when he knew that no one in that hospital could actually prevent him from seeing Dean, "my partner was brought here last night. This was the soonest I could get here."

The mention of the word "partner" hadn't inspired the sort of sympathy Castiel had been hoping for. If anything, it had made the man less inclined to work with him.

"His name is Dean Nash," he tried again. "I've been told he's on the third floor, room 305."

"Visiting hours aren't for another two hours," the man repeated sourly. "You can go and get breakfast at the Denny's and come back at eight like everyone else."

Castiel scowled at the man. "Your hate will get you nowhere in life."

"It isn't hate," the old man said. "It's the rules, but your type has problems understanding the rules and always want special exceptions made for yourself."

Before Castiel could consider smiting the man, thankfully, a young woman dressed similarly to Ramona after work had overheard him. "You must be Cas," she said with a small smile, attempting to diffuse the situation before it grew worse. "Agents Stills and Nash told us to be looking for you. You can follow me to the third floor."

They walked together to the elevators behind the now-sour-looking man at the front desk. She pressed the button with the arrow pointing up and smiled at him. "Your Dean is certainly a charmer." She gave the older man at the welcome desk another look as though checking to see if he was going to let the matter drop now that she had intervened.

"Is he unintentionally flirting with everyone in the hospital?" Castiel asked as the brass doors opened and they stepped inside.

"When he isn't talking about you," she said with a smile. "He is on morphine, and that's loosened his tongue." She then added with a conspiratory whisper, "He keeps calling you his angel."

Castiel's surprised reaction was apparently brushed off as one of embarrassment. Thankfully, Dean didn't seem to be revealing anything dangerous or too private, and everyone was assuming "angel" was a term of endearment. The nurse directed him to Dean's room while she stopped at the nurse's station. From what Castiel could catch of her conversation with the other nurses, it was to discuss the volunteer greeter downstairs and to have "something done about him."

He found the room easily. Even had it not been for the number outside, he would have recognized Sam's form as it tried to get comfortable in a chair too small for his huge size. He stepped inside to find Dean was stretched out on the hospital bed. The angel couldn't stop the images of Dean on a similar bed almost four years before after Alistair had beaten him and Castiel had been unable to stop the demon from nearly killing his charge. The memory brought a painful twisting sensation in the angel's chest.

"Cas!" Dean said, enthusiastically, raising his arms toward the door not unlike Johnny when he was asking for a hug. "Don't look so sad. I've got drugs. I'm not feeling a thing." His hands opened and closed, completing the comparison to their son.

The angel responded in a similar fashion, coming closer to the bed and wrapping his arms around Dean awkwardly, trying not to jostle his head or the wires and tubes currently connected to him. The hunter hummed as they held to one another.

"Is the amulet working?" Castiel asked in his partner's ear. "Am I hurting you?"

"Hard to tell with the morphine, but I don't think so," Dean said before kissing him on the cheek. He was not normally so tactile in public, but Castiel had no qualms in indulging him.

Behind him, a tired-looking Sam was pulling forward a vinyl and wood chair that matched the one that Sam was sitting in so that Castiel could take a seat at Dean's side. Castiel's hand found the hunter's as Sam began relaying the details of Dean's injuries. He hadn't been concussed, but his fibula and femur were each broken in one spot. He also had some bruised ribs and a few more minor cuts and bruises. Because Sam and Dean were both pretending to be FBI agents, the hospital staff had decided to keep him overnight and offered them the best care possible.

That wasn't the best care that existed, that was Castiel's healing power, but that wasn't possible until the warlock fixed his spell.

"What about Patrick?" Sam asked, washing his hands over his face in an attempt to fend off sleep.

"We got him," Castiel said. "And he has already been put to work."

"Knew you'd get him," Dean said, offering a squeeze to his hand.

"I believe the saying is 'too little, too late.'"

"You weren't there, Cas," Sam said while Dean seemed to struggle to articulate his own thoughts. "You couldn't have done anything."

"What he said." Dean kept his gaze focused on Castiel, who was beginning to feel self-conscious for the adoration in his partner's expression. It made the angel feel like more of a failure for his inability to help this man who so clearly trusted and loved him.

All Castiel could do was sit at his side, feeling useless, and keep Dean's hand in his own.

#

It took several hours, more drugs, a cast, and a specialist before Dean was given the stamp of approval to leave the hospital. He looked between his two driving options, Cas who had never driven the Impala and Sam who was visibly exhausted from staying up all night worrying about Dean. With his own cast up to his thigh on his right leg, Dean wasn't driving, and angel flight was out of the question.

Asking Azrael, if it worked, would raise all sorts of questions about what she really was. Since she'd spent millennia using the angel of death as a disguise for her other identity of Death itself, he was pretty sure Azrael wouldn't want to blow her cover for him.

"Sam, you can't drive," he said as he was being wheeled out of the hospital. "You need to get at least four hours before I'll let you behind Baby's wheel."

"I could get us as far as a hotel, get a few hours' sleep and then we could hit the road."

"I just want to get home," Dean said. He wanted to get home to their boy, after two days away, and he was also thinking that Cas was looking way too sad than he had any right to. Maybe getting to drive them home would make him feel useful. Dean might have been a little drug-addled, but he knew his partner was upset. He fished his keys out of his coat pocket, neatly avoiding the silver ring that rested with them, and tossed them to Cas. "I trust you with her."

Cas didn't perk up as much as Dean had hoped, but there was a little reverence in eyes at the fact that his partner trusted him. It was something.

Within an hour on the road, Dean had fallen asleep again, trusting Cas not to wreck Baby. Sam was back at Bobby's thanks to Angel Express, so it was just the two of them in the car. As much as he'd tried, though, Dean couldn't really be much company. He had done a bit of driving from the back seat while his partner learned the feel of the car and how she drove, but once it was obvious he had it under control, Dean quickly slipped into dreamland. It was probably for the best. Eventually, he was going to complain about how slowly the angel was driving, even though he knew it was mostly to avoid potholes and bumps in the road that would jostle his leg.

He woke up once on the drive to pop some pain meds and checked to see how Cas was doing, but nodded off almost immediately after. They were back in South Dakota when Dean woke up again, several hours later. He groggily realized they were nearly to Sioux Falls as a few of the landmarks began to look familiar. "How are you doing?" he asked Cas.

"You're up," the angel said. "Do you need more medicine?"

"I can make it to Bobby's from here," he said. He lifted his hand to rest on Cas's left shoulder, hoping to ease the tension he could see and feel the angel carrying. He could still feel the tingle of Cas's Grace, but it didn't hurt like it had before. "I'm going to ask again. How are you doing?"

"Getting a little tired and I think I may need to urinate when we return to Bobby's," Cas said. Dean snickered at how irritated the angel sounded at the idea he might have to do something as normal as taking a piss.

"Thanks for the information, but not what I meant," he said. "I've been pretty high for the last twelve or so hours, or asleep. But you've seemed pretty down about my leg." Speaking of the leg, it was making its presence known as the drugs and lethargy of sleep were fading away.

"I can't heal you," Cas said, his shoulders going tight again. "And when I tried, I actually hurt you."

"Not your fault," Dean assured him, removing his hand from the angel's shoulder so that he could readjust his leg. That turned out to be a very bad idea, and Dean ended up crying out in pain.

Cas's head whipped around to look back at Dean. "What happened? Did I hit a pothole?"

"No," Dean said as he gritted his teeth. He inhaled sharply and barked out, "Eyes on the road." Cas quickly obeyed, and Dean got to add to his pain a wave of guilt for yelling at the angel. "I tried to shift my leg, and it hurt," he finally said after he felt he could speak without snapping. "I'm sorry, Cas."

"You are in pain," Cas said. "If I can't apologize for being unable to heal you, you can't apologize for reacting to your pain."

"I've got to get better at it," Dean said, eyes stinging as his leg let out a steady throb. "You understand, but Johnny won't."

"We can explain to him that you have a boo-boo," Cas said. That word still sounded foreign in Cas's serious tone, but Johnny had learned it when he'd scraped his knee playing with Fallyn and should understand that Dean was injured, at least. He wasn't sure that the toddler would understand that people in pain can be unintentionally snappy, though, especially not a kid as sensitive as Johnny.

They reached Bobby's a few minutes later, and Dean found himself surrounded by well meaning family, all of whom he had to tell to back off before they hurt him trying to get him out of the Impala. He knew he could have counted on Bobby or Sam to help him because they all had experience helping someone—helping Dean specifically—who was injured. But he knew that by excluding Cas, he'd hurt the guy worse than he already was. Cas was already feeing useless because he couldn't heal Dean; the hunter thought it was probably better not to underscore it.

Slowly, Dean inched himself out of the car while Cas stood to the side, holding his crutches.

"Where's Johnny?" he asked once he had a crutch under each arm.

"Metatron has him," Sam said. "Balthazar and Azrael are working with Patrick on getting ingredients for the counterspell."

"Azrael's providing the motivation to get his ass in gear," Bobby said. Dean bet she was. "We've got the downstairs et up like I had it when I was in the chair. You don't want going up and down stairs for the first few weeks, if you can avoid it."

Dean thanked him as he moved slowly toward the house, trying to swing his leg as little as possible. It might have been in a cast, but that didn't mean that moving and shifting his leg didn't hurt like hell. Cas ran ahead to get the door and to stare at him with a worrying look on his face. Bobby had the good sense to give Dean space while Sam hovered. Dean was used to this sort of hovering, and it didn't put him on edge the way Cas's did, not that he'd say it aloud.

The moment he was through the door, Johnny let out a loud shout of "Dada!" Dean was hurting and tired, but that single word helped to sooth his increasingly prickly attitude. Cas turned down the blankets on what looked like a brand new bed. Dean didn't have time to question it, as Cas asked as much of the other men in the room.

"It didn't seem like a bad idea to get a bed instead of a cot," Metatron said while he held a squirming baby. "Given how the two of you like to sleep, and that this little guy won't be in a crib forever. It's the same set as he already has in his bedroom."

Dean might have liked to get the little guy a fun bed, like one shaped like a racecar or a castle, but he wasn't going to knock a gift that kept him off a cot for the next few weeks. And as far as their sleeping arrangements, it was going to be a while until Dean would be comfortable with his broken leg and sharing the small space with Cas. He'd probably give in sooner than he should, though, because Dean didn't exactly love the idea of weeks of sleeping alone. The mattress, though, it was a few thousand times better than the old one upstairs.

"It's memory foam," Metatron supplied when Dean seemed to melt into the bed.

The hunter chuckled at Cas's confused face. "It remembers me." He knew his partner was going to ask how, so he cut him off with a promise to explain later.

Metatron took a few steps closer with Johnny and set him on the floor by the bed. "Your daddy has a boo-boo," he said. The boy stared at the cast, his hand moving to touch the hard material, but stopping to look up at Dean.

"It's okay," he lightly tapped the cast. He didn't want Johnny to know he could probably knock on it without hurting Dean just in case the boy decided to test how much damage the cast could take.

Johnny placed his chubby little hand on the cast and made a hissing noise. "Boo-boo, Dada?" he asked. "Ow."

"That's right, little guy," Dean said. "Ow."

"Taddy," Johnny said, looking up at the angel. "Dada boo-boo." It became pretty clear they were going to have to let the kid hurt himself without being healed by the angel. Already, Johnny assumed the solution to an injury was his Taddy's healing powers. He just kept looking at the angel and touching Dean's leg.

"Taddy can't fix it," Dean said, running his hand through the boy's reddish hair. "And that's okay." But Cas looked like it was anything but.

#

It had been late when they got home, and it didn't take long for Johnny to fall asleep at Dean's side. Apparently, the bed remembered him as well. Castiel had been trying to stay upstairs in the living room with Dean rather than venturing downstairs to the basement where his siblings were overseeing Patrick's work. Castiel was certain if he went downstairs, he would hurt the warlock.

The angel chose, instead, to scoop his son from the bed and place him in his crib upstairs. The baby nuzzled against his neck and offered a contented sigh. While the boy's earlier urging had been a painful reminder that he couldn't help Dean, he found it surprisingly pleasing that Johnny had such trust in the angel. His son knew he could count on him, even at such a young age. Given the neglect the boy had suffered for nearly the first year of his life, Castiel counted himself grateful that Johnny was so able to put faith in him.

He tucked Johnny in with a kiss to his forehead before heading back down to take his place in the chair at Dean's side.

"I saw some boxes lining the hallway. Looked like they'd been in the attic for a while."

"Christmas decorations," Bobby said as he sat on the sofa that had been shoved to the side of the room. "I had Cas bring them down. I think there's a tree in one of them, if you don't mind aluminum."

"Wasn't quite what I'd had in mind, but it'll work," Dean said. Castiel knew what Dean had originally had in mind. He had made Castiel watch "Christmas Vacation," showing him many of the Christmas traditions, with the caveat that  _they_  would "do things right." That apparently wasn't in the cards. Already, there would be no hunt for the perfect Christmas tree, though that was probably better for the tree that would die to supply them with a "traditional" holiday.

"It even has a color wheel," Bobby said. "Thing spins and shines different colors on the tree. If it still works."

"Johnny'll love that," Dean said.

For want of  _something_ to do, Castiel began going through the boxes to find the metal tree, though none of the boxes appeared to be big enough to actually hold a tree larger than a foot or two tall. He found a dusty box marked "X-Mas" Tree in old paint on the side. He ripped through the tape at the top to find, much to his chagrin, the tree was in pieces.

He began having flashbacks to the assembly of Johnny's crib.

He carried the box back into the living room, where Dean looked close to falling asleep. Castiel had grown accustomed to the time spent resting at the hunter's side while he rested, but he knew that wasn't a possibility tonight or for the next several nights.

"I will stay down here and attempt to assemble this," Castiel said. He looked to Bobby and Sam, who both appeared to be growing tired. "Could you listen for Johnny should he wake up through the night?" He didn't tend to, but knowing his father was injured, Johnny might not rest as soundly tonight.

"Don't worry about it," Sam said, standing and patting the angel on his shoulder. "We've got it." He moved to Dean and put his large hand on the older brother's shoulder.

"Give us a shout if you need us," Bobby said before they both left Castiel and Dean.

"Don't know how much longer I can stay awake," Dean said.

"Go to sleep," Castiel said, leaning over to press his lips to Dean's forehead. "I'm going to take the amulet off so I can stay awake if you need me." He softly ran his fingers through Dean's hair and took at least some pleasure at the fact that the hunter's eyes closed, relaxed. "Goodnight, Dean."

"'Night, Cas."

Castiel set the amulet on the small table near Dean's bed and began removing the many pieces of the tree. It was going to be a long night, but he could at least keep busy.

#

Dean woke up a few times through the night, so when he saw dawn filtering through the curtains, he figured it was probably better to just stay up. Cas had been a good nursemaid, remembering to put on the amulet each time Dean woke before getting the hunter more meds, something to drink or help him to the downstairs bathroom.

He glanced over to see Cas fussing over the silver-colored tree, trying to get it exactly right. Dean had snapped at the angel once during the night for waking him up, swearing at the lack of instructions and that he'd, apparently, put it all together upside down. Dean could sympathize, but not when he was functioning on little sleep and in pain.

"Looks good," Dean said, though he kind of thought the tree was a little ridiculous. It had probably been around since Bobby was a kid, back when it wasn't a requirement or even in style for a tree to cover every square inch of the trunk. The branches all pointed up, instead of out, and it really didn't live up to Dean's image of a big, traditional Christmas, since it was a few inches shorter than Cas in his bare feet.

But it was small enough to accommodate Dean's bed, it was free, and Cas had worked all night trying to get it to look just right, including the color wheel, which was spinning on the floor beneath the tree and making the tree change colors every few seconds.

"Dean? Do you need anything?"

"Nah. I think I'm up now." He started to shift to a reclining position on the bed. "Are there any ornaments in the boxes you brought down?"

"Yes," Cas said, pointing to a box that hadn't held the tree. "I wasn't sure if you would want Johnny to help with that."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I think it'd be nice."

"I would suggest one thing," Cas said as he pulled a plastic figure from the box. "Can we buy a star for the top of the tree?" There was something rewarding seeing Cas, who had been so down lately, smile as Dean laughed at the plastic angel.


	3. Pain Without Gain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's recovery isn't going well, and two who have long been in hiding must surface to keep the world safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the ridiculously long hiatus on this. The bar exam and working double to make up for how little I could work during the exam obliterated my time to write. I hope this chapter will help everyone to forgive me.

_“No matter how much falls on us, we keep plowing ahead. That's the only way to keep the roads clear.”_

_― Greg Kincaid_

 

She found the note on their dresser and swore in a way that would certainly have made many of her siblings blush. At least, once upon a time it would have. It had been quite some time since she had seen any of them but Gabriel, and since he was now in charge, perhaps there was more of a sense of levity in Heaven. There was certainly no levity for her in this moment.

The note began as they all did, with Lees calling her Sparrow. It was an old nickname from long ago that had never faded. It had taken her centuries when they were enemies to realize that the nickname was not derogatory, but rather, playful and centuries more to realize there was affection there.

_Sparrow,_

_I'm sorry to leave you like this, with just a note. If I am lucky, I will be back before you find it or Crowley will kill me. I'd sooner that than face your wrath. You may have everyone fooled with your "mercy" routine, but you never seem to find any mercy when I make a mistake._

_Remember when I used to need to explain things like exaggeration for the sake of emphasis or a joke? You were so clueless then, not the worldly person you are today. But you know now why I do it. I kid because I love you._

_I'm stalling, and I don't really have the time for that, though I'd like to ramble much longer. Like I am now. Sorry._

_Crowley has found my old place in France. The one in Normandy from the Black Death. Not the vacation spot near Nice. There is nothing in that building that could be good news for the rest of the world, and I was certain my protections there would last for years to come. Please DO NOT follow me. There are items in that place that could hurt you, and Crowley is known to have confiscated a few angel blades from the botched Apocalypse. I want you safe._

_I'd also rather you not know in excruciating detail everything I used to do._

_If I don't make it back, or I end up headed south for a few centuries, I love you._

_Lees_

_P.S. No heroics. I am serious. There are other people (and other species) that need your protection._

No heroics? Well, that wasn't going to happen.

#

Over one week. Less than a full ten days. Two hundred and twenty-nine hours. Thirteen thousand, seven hundred and forty-four minutes. Eight hundred and twenty-four thousand, six hundred and forty-nine seconds. Eight hundred and twenty-four thousand, six hundred and fifty seconds. Eight hundred and twenty-four thousand, six hundred and fifty-one seconds...

Dean was going insane. He was sure of it. He would crack and there would be nothing left of him but a blubbering, jibbering mess, and his leg  _still_  wouldn't be healed. If he lost it, it wouldn't make much difference to everyone else because he was practically useless right now. He still hurt, not just in his knee but everywhere. Apparently, when a spell designed to attack angelic Grace is cast on someone who has a bit of angelic Grace holding his soul together, he doesn't get to just enjoy the pain medication and let the bones knit themselves back together. Hell, they weren't even sure the break would heal because of Cas's Grace embedded in Dean's very core.

He couldn't hunt, he couldn't do anything about the fact they had a witch in the house, and he couldn't do much of anything to track Crowley's movements. He couldn't even do anything to help organize his son's first Christmas-though Cas had been trying to keep him as involved as possible. He could dictate from his bed, hobble around on his crutches, but that was it. He hadn't been able to cut down a Christmas tree or hang decorations, and since he seemed to be the only person in the house capable of cooking or baking anything that didn't come from a can or a freezer (unless it was Bobby's chili), there hadn't been any traditional Christmas food, either. And, because he took up the whole back seat with his leg, he hadn't been able to ride in the same car with Johnny when they took him into town to see the Christmas lights. He hadn't gotten to see the look of wonder on the boy's face that Cas and Sam described in such detail when they'd driven past the glittering buildings, trees and other decorations.

It was safe to say that Dean was getting more miserable by the second, and Cas? He was getting on his nerves like nothing else.

The angel always seemed to be hovering, desperate to help with even the smallest of tasks. Just like he was today. Every ten minutes, like clockwork-Dean had timed it-he was asking Dean if he needed something. Sometimes, the hunter feigned sleep just to get some silence. If Dean so much as rolled over or sat up, his partner wanted to know if he should do something for him, get him something or help him.

And God forbid Dean move off of the bed and get his crutches like he was now. Before Dean could properly stand, Cas was in front of him well into the hunter's personal space asking, "What can I do? Let me get it."

"I need to take a piss, Cas. And I'm at least capable of doing that myself," he snapped, using his crutches to push the angel out of his way. "Will you  _please_  stop hovering! I don't need you to do every little damned thing for me just because you can't do anything actually helpful for me right now." Cas winced at the barb. It had been a targeted attack; Dean knew how much it bothered the angel that he couldn't heal him. He felt equal parts satisfied and like shit for using it.

The good faded a little as Johnny whimpered where he had been playing in the corner. He hadn't meant to scare the kid, though he couldn't pretend it was the first time, or even the second. Hell, he'd actually snapped  _at_  Johnny yesterday when the boy had jostled him trying to climb into the bed at Dean's side. Johnny had slunk away like a kicked puppy and Dean had felt terrible for the rest of the day.

Dean watched as Cas's shoulders squared this time, rather than slumped. Good. He was itching for a fight. Had been for days, and Cas was the only one making himself regularly available to give it to him. Sam and Bobby were focused on working with the witch. It also made Dean feel less like a heel for lashing out this time. He'd been feeling like a horse's ass with how each jibe made Cas curl more and more into himself.

Cas went to Johnny quickly, finding a toy to distract him from Dean's angry tone. That righteous feeling that the hunter had experienced just moments before began to ebb out of him as he watched. He knew the tactic too well, having been the one distracted from his parents' fighting with toys or Sesame Street. He wasn't exactly comfortable with the fact his own kid now needed the diversion.

The angel was using a smile that looked less forced that Dean suspected it was as he encouraged Johnny to play with the teddy bear Gabriel brought the last time he visited. He even made it dance and talk to their son until small shoulders relaxed and a tentative smile formed on those tiny lips. Johnny took the plush toy and gave it a fitting bear hug while blue eyes looked fixedly at Dean. "I thought you had to 'take a piss,'" the angel hissed, and Dean was actually surprised that hadn't been accompanied by angry air quotes.

The angel was right. Dean  _did_  need to use the bathroom. He'd put it off as long as he could, so while he'd have loved to have it out with Cas now, he actually had to go do his business first.

He'd like to pretend that those few moments were enough to allow him to "reflect," but that only worked if he didn't know how he was behaving. He knew he was being an ass, and knowing hadn't made him change his behavior in any way. He knew Cas didn't deserve his barbs any more than Johnny needed to hear it. He had realized it before and had even apologized, but Dean hadn't changed how he acted.

He had a sneaking suspicion that his better half wasn't going to accept a simple "I'm sorry" this time.

Dean washed his hands and went out of the bathroom to find Cas standing in the hallway. His arms were crossed, and for the first time since Dean had begun to snap and snark at him, he didn't look simply hurt. He looked good and mad. "If you  _must_  take your resentment out on someone, take it out on me," he hissed in a whisper, "but don't do this in front of Johnny. You are scaring him, and that boy doesn't deserve to have his father frighten him."

"I know that," Dean hissed back. "I don't exactly plan to do this when Johnny's around. I don't get my jollies making him cry, you know. I'm not  _that_  much of a monster."

"I didn't say that you were, but you are also a grown man who  _should_  be capable of controlling his outburts."

"You think I don't try? I do." He leaned forward as much as his crutches would allow. He'd have been the one invading personal space this time, if it weren't for his limited mobility. "But you're driving me fucking nuts. You are hovering all the damned time. You're always around. You're always looking at me with those sad puppy eyes, asking me every ten minutes if I need something or want something and I try not to tell you that all I want is some peace and quiet."

"I'm always around because I want to help how I can. You made it clear how useless I am to do anything more." Cas's eyes looked away from Dean's face toward the floor for just a moment. His resolve and anger seemed to be faltering in guilt.

"You aren't useless, and I didn't mean for you to think you are," Dean said. "But I'm hurting all the time."

"And that's my fault, too," Cas said.

"Yeah. Because you used your own grace to put my shattered soul back together. How terrible of you," Dean said, wryly. "Ask Sam or Bobby. They'll tell you I am a miserable patient, and I'm even worse when I feel like there are things I should be doing."

"Like hunting for Crowley."

"Well, sure. Finding out he used to be a cupid and might not be as anti-Lucifer if he figured it out, that was definitely a shocker. But it isn't all that different from a normal day in the life for me. What I mean is the fact that it's Christmas. My first one with my family, and I can't do jack shit. I'm missing out on some of Johnny's firsts and I can't just enjoy this with you both the way I want."

The angel was silent for a moment, seeming to let everything sink in. "You still need to try harder not to yell at Johnny." Dean nodded. "I understand if you feel you need to take it out on someone, and I'm willing-"

"No, I'm going to try with both of you. And if I slip, you need to call me out on it. You used to do it all the time. Hell, you slammed me into a brick wall and smacked me around to prove a point once before. Ever since that mess when you were... bad..." Dean didn't know quite how to phrase it when he talked about Cas's attempts to break open Purgatory. "...you don't confront me about my shit like you used to."

"You... want me to fight you?" Cas asked, sounding more confused about this than he even had about the pizza man.

Dean sagged as much as the crutches would let him. "I don't  _want_  us to fight, but it's going to happen, so I need you to make this a give and take. Because if you just keep taking it, I'm going to feel like a freaking monster. I'd rather go to Hell again than become the kind of person who uses someone else as a punching bag to make himself feel better." As much as he loved his dad and knew his dad had loved him, Dean also knew what it was like to be the bag.

"I'd rather not have to retrieve you a second time."

Dean huffed out a laugh. It hurt his ribs and sides like most other movements did, but it still felt good do it. "Then no more suffering in silence." He shifted his weight to his good leg and lifted his right hand from his crutch. Cas's immediate reaction was to jerk forward and stop Dean from falling, but stopped himself when he saw the hunter was fine. Instead, he helped Dean's hand find Cas's own and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Now, you need to make up to Johnny." His thumb stroked Dean's skin once, twice before he let go.

"I can definitely do that," Dean said as he maneuvered himself back into the living room. "Hey, Johnny-boy, do you want to climb up on Daddy's bed, and we can do some puzzles?"

#

The house had been completely sealed for decades. Crowley had sent countless waves of expendables at the building to see if the wards had lowered. Up until now, he'd always been down a few pawns, but today, the report came back that the outer gates of the old building had finally been breached.

The rather elaborate home looked as though it had been built centuries before and remodeled several times over the years. It made sense, to keep the property looking as though someone was living there so that no one would venture into what was possibly the greatest trove of supernatural weapons, spells and miscellany. It hadn't been touched in decades, sealed tight and warded so that no human would dare venture near it and any demon or angel would incinerate if they dared think of crossing the protected lands.

Still, he'd been watching, even when Lilith was in charge and fixated on the Apocalypse. He'd kept a close eye on their former leader's stockpile, waiting for the day when it would be open. The wards had been weakening with every year that passed, and now they were finally broken.

He'd considered bringing his lackeys with him to test out the wards inside, but this needed to be a solo mission. He couldn't risk some lesser demon getting a hold of some powerful weapon and doing to Crowley what he'd always imagined doing to Lilith. That was why he'd killed all the ones who had survived this last test of the wards to be sure no one else knew of this location but him.

He began to regret leaving the grunt work for himself, as he tried spell after spell after spell on the heavy wooden door. And even once he was through that, he had to wonder whether there would be more surprises in store for him. Lilith's predecessor had been the smartest of the bunch, maybe as smart as Crowley himself. She would surely booby trap the place. She'd also been insanely powerful, so she could easily have set something up that could kill almost any demon save for her and, perhaps, the Knights of Hell.

Yet he found nothing. Not even a sign that traps had been set and had faded along with her outer wards. She had obviously thought they would be enough. "Hubris, how I love you," he said. "You've been the making of my career and may perhaps be the making of my kingdom."

"You know, talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity," said the voice of a German woman from behind him. It wasn't until he turned around that Crowley knew who she was wearing, but there was no denying that this petite brunette housed what had once been the most powerful demon in all of creation.

"Mephistopheles, I thought you were gone for good. I certainly didn't expect this." He looked at her vessel more closely. "Are you wearing  _Eva Braun_?"

"She was willing and I needed someone on the inside to take out Hitler. He'd gotten to the point of causing more conversions to the other side than he was getting for our team." Mephistopheles smoothly crossed the room with absolutely no fear of what Crowley might do to her, as though she wasn't a shadow of what she once had been. Crowley still remembered when her power could give you shivers from a mile away, but she was now hardly more shocking than the chill of an early spring rain.

"Ah, yes." With a wave of his hand, he brought some of his very best Glencraig and two tumblers. He always assessed a situation better over a bottle of his favorite drink. "'Willing.' One of the drawbacks to falling early. Did she know what you were going to do to her other half?" He poured two fingers' worth of alcohol in each glass and approached the two wing chairs on either side of the fireplace. Mephistopheles had already claimed the larger of the two.

"She did," she said. "As you said, 'willing' is the drawback to an early fall. I couldn't have her changing her mind. When 'Yes' doesn't stay 'Yes,' you have awkward situations like an Apocalypse overturned because of a child's plaything jammed in an ashtray." He offered her one of the tumblers, and to his visible surprise, she took it without suspicion. "You aren't going to waste Glencraig just to poison me."

"But you  _do_  understand that I am going to have to kill you," he said pulled out his pocket square and dusted off the leather seat opposite hers.

"Naturally. I'm a threat to your throne." She took a slow, savoring drink. If he had to share his stock with anyone, he rather liked it to be her. She at least seemed to appreciate a truly good Scotch. "Even if I have no interest in it, the fact that I am alive is a rallying point for your demons. Likewise, you must be aware that I can't let you have access to anything here."

"Of course," Crowley said as he took a seat in the chair opposite hers. "You know, it's nice to have these discussions like calm, rational people. I'm so accustomed to the plaid-clad wonders who stab first and ask questions later."

"My technique used to be ask questions while you stab. Gets you answers quicker," she said before taking another drink. "But I may be getting docile in my old age."

"You're absolutely sure we can't work out a deal? I'm very good with deals. I keep your powered down state a secret and you let me into your cache of weapons. You know I'll keep the deal. I'm a stickler for contracts."

She smiled. "I know you are. I remember the work you did on Adolf Frederick when he asked for the best meal he'd ever eaten."

"It wasn't my fault he ate himself to death," Crowley said. "He had ten more years before we were supposed to collect him, and the fool king did the work for us nine years and three hundred and sixty-four days early."

"And people make fun of  _your_  reasons for heading south," she said with a chuckle.

" _You_  had me convinced I was coming up ... short. But you'd have found something, in the end, to make me sell my soul. You had to be curious what kind of a demon a cupid would make," he said, and had to admit he was just a little proud when he saw surprise flicker across her face. "You thought I didn't know? I've known for almost a century. But you don't go around telling Lucifer fanatics that you helped to stall their glorious leader's resurrection by a few centuries."

"Or that you were a cupid," Mephistopheles said as she finished her Glencraig.

"Or that you were a cupid," he conceded as he finished his own. He set the tumbler onto a nearby table and pulled out the angel blade he had tucked in his coat. "Shall we?"

"Lets."

#

Dean was asleep, and not for the first time since his leg had broken, feverish. Castiel didn't know if it was because of the broken leg, the spell reacting to his Grace, or the fact that Dean wasn't used to going without Castiel's healing powers. Castiel took the damp washcloth in his hands and folded it so that it would rest on Dean's forehead. He knew Dean's fever wasn't high yet and it wouldn't do any damage-it wasn't even to the levels of making him experience fever dreams, as far as the angel could tell.

But he hated being unable to do anything to fix it, and he hated he needed to be wearing Zadkiel's necklace just to be able to touch the man. It dampened his senses in ways that he wasn't accustomed to for this long. Not where Dean was concerned.

"How is he doing?" Sam asked, startling Castiel. He thought he might just understand why Dean and Sam always seemed so upset when he would surprise them.

"Fevered again," he answered after the initial surprise wore off. "Has that witch managed to solve anything yet?"

"No, but he  _really_  seems to be trying, and we're doing all we can to find a way to undo this spell." The younger Winchester placed a large hand on his shoulder. "How are you holding up?"

"There is no reason to be concerned about me. I'm not the one who was cursed."

"You're all but married to my brother. You might as well be the one who's cursed. I talked to Dean earlier. He said the two of you had talked and he apologized for being an ass."

"He did," the angel said, watching as Dean's reaching over to the side of the bed where Castiel usually slept. He took his seat beside the man and held on to the man's hand in his. The bed was too small and Dean was in far too much pain to risk sleeping together-or to allow Castiel to meditate while Dean slept-but he could do this. "I don't think things are getting better for him. He actually admitted that he hurts. All the time. I know he is a miserable patient, now more than ever do I know that, but it isn't like Dean to admit how bad he hurts. Unless..."

"Unless the pain is bad," Sam said with a sigh. "I worry about that, too." Castiel appreciated that the other man wasn't trying to sugarcoat this for him. For the first few days, Sam had tried to tell him that everything would be okay or Dean will pull through this with no problem, or any number of other placating but meaningless statements. "There has to be something to correct this, and Azrael said she has been upstairs trying to pester Dean's future father-in-law to get off his behind and do something."

Castiel managed to smile at the thought of his Father being referred to in such human terms. It was equal parts heartwarming and surreal. He wondered what Dean would say at the idea that God was, practically, his father-in-law. Unless it annoyed Father, Dean likely wouldn't think much of it, considering his opinion of Castiel's father and how he abandoned everything.

"You may have to consider the possibility of removing my Grace from Dean," Castiel said softly. There was no guaranteeing what it would do to Dean, or if it was even possible with how intertwined the man's soul had become with the angel's Grace, but he couldn't continue to watch Dean suffer, either.

"We... already started looking at that as an option, but Gabriel thought it would be a very, very bad idea." Sam ran a hand through his hair, seeming to want for something to do with himself in that moment. "He wouldn't elaborate like I'd have liked, but I got the impression that I couldn't begin to find a gift big enough for how you helped Dean getting him out of Hell in one piece."

"I am sorry I wasn't so successful when I tried it again," Castiel said.

"You got me out, most of me, at least." The hunter managed a smile through his worry for the sake of easing Castiel's conscience. This man never failed to amaze him. It was strange to think of him as the boy with demon blood, as he was, perhaps, one of the kindest humans Castiel had the pleasure of meeting. That he had regained Sam's trust as well as his brother's was nothing short of a miracle. To be included part of their family after everything that had happened still left him in awe.

"How are your dreams?" With the hunt and Dean injuries, it had been over two week since they had seen to patching up the wall in Sam's head.

"Fairly stable," Sam said. "Nothing that can't wait until we have him better." The noises in the baby monitor signaled that Johnny was awake from his nap. It had been a late one, but he'd been so content playing with Dean that Castiel let the nap wait until late in the afternoon. "I've got him." Sam patted him on the shoulder and left Castiel to quietly worry.

Castiel could see the beads of sweat appearing on Dean's face. It was a sign that the fever was, once again, breaking. Each time the fevers seemed to spike for longer and, based on the few times they had managed to get a thermometer in the hunter's mouth, higher. It was little wonder that the man's temper was wearing thin or that he was lashing out, regardless of whether the targets of his anger deserved it or not.

He found himself thinking of that future he had taken them to years ago, where they had seen Johnny grown and well adjusted. It had seemed the most likely future at the time. It was true that there were countless possibilities, twists and turns that could still change what happened, but all accounts pointed to that being the ending that Castiel and Dean would finally get, the one they deserved.

Maybe this spell had happened in that future and it had passed and become a long-distant memory. Or maybe the curse or something like it would take Dean from the angel and from their son too early. What would happen then? Castiel owed it to Johnny to stay, though he would ache to return to Heaven, and yet when he returned to heaven for good, he knew he would long for his family and for Earth itself. He didn't know if he would get to come back once Dean passed.

"You're thinking too hard," Dean said, his voice rough like he had been swallowing sandpaper. "Disturbing my sleep."

"I am sorry," Castiel said. "I'm worried. It wasn't all that long ago when all I needed to do to ease your pain was to…" He placed his hand on Dean's cheek. "…touch you. You're very warm."

"We'll get through this. And if not, I'll raise so much hell, they'll be begging the big guy upstairs to hurl me back down." Dean smiled and Castiel found himself returning it in spite of himself. It grew broader as he heard Sam and Johnny talking—well, babbling on Johnny's part—in the hall.

"Really?" Sam said in response to Johnny's chattering. "Wow. Big plans for the day, little man." There was more chattering.

"He's gonna be a good dad one day," Dean said, then in a lower voice asked. "She ask you yet about healing her?"

Castiel shook his head. He had made it clear that he  _could_  heal Emma so that she could have children, but he left it up to her and told her regardless of what happened with Sam, the offer would always stand. Ultimately, too much had been taken from her when she was attacked in college. This was her decision of if and when she wanted his help.

#

"I almost thought you would have gotten rusty," Crowley said as he swung at Mephistopheles with the angel blade.

"I'm actually impressed that a salesman such as yourself has these kinds of fighting skills." Banter she could handle, ducking and dodging, she could manage, but Mephistopheles knew she would need to be strategic about her attacks to avoid tiring herself. When she saw an opening, she'd strike, sending him hurtling back against the thick stone walls with her power, but each time she did, the subsequent attack took more out of her than the last.

"I'm more than just a pretty face." He spat blood onto the dusty floor and lunged at her, landing his first blow, a cut to her side. The killing blow would be next. She was powered down far too much to fight back any longer. She could feel what remained of her corrupted Grace beginning to seep out through the wound at her side.

_"Sparrow, do you honestly want to bow down to those... things he has created? Would you really cast me into the pit with our brother for believing that, just perhaps, we are superior to those little insects?"_

She had been so glorious then, and for a moment, Mephistopheles swore he could see her Sparrow again. She was full of proverbial fire. God, was she hot like that.

_"We saw an opportunity and took it. Cain wanted to save his brother from eternal damnation, so he took my deal to spare him. It was an even trade. A soul for a soul. You know, Sparrow, I prefer your anger to this... Is it disappointment? Do you even know what disappointment is?"_

_"Sodom and Gamorrah, they really deserved this, Sparrow? Where was your mercy, then? Don't you see that God could not possibly be consistent in his teachings and actions? He wants us to love and respect these creatures, but when they disobey him, it is perfectly acceptable to level them in a rain of fire."_

Sparrow's wings had always been beautiful. Not gossamer but the warm brown of earth, the warm brown of her skin.

_"What does that even mean, you're in hiding? How do you possibly hide from God without falling like I did? Does that mean Gabriel may still be alive? God help us all if he is, the bastard."_

Warm hands touched Mephistopheles' face. "Zadkiel,"

"You don't get to call me that," she said. "Not now." A hand was carding through Mephistopheles's hair. It made her open her eyes to meet the worried whiskey-colored ones staring down at her. "You have countless weapons here, but you would have put something to heal you here, too. I know you would have."

"You have to hide everything. Put all of these weapons out of reach. There was a group of humans once. They were well protected enough… Had bunkers worldwide with all kinds of wards."

"Stop that," the lilting Australian accent ordered. "We will work on that together. Once you are healed. Where can I find what I need."

"Kitchen. Top cabinet to the left of the fireplace. Behind the salt." Mephistopheles smiled, not sure she'd make it long enough for her lover to go the distance from the parlor to the kitchen.

"You  _would_  do that," the angel said fondly before vanishing.

Right. Angels that didn't fall could fly. Why was that so difficult to remember right now? Oh, right, she was dying.

Zadkiel, her sparrow, was back in moments with Dyrnwyn. The ancient Welsh blade blazed in the angel's hand, just as Mephistopheles knew it would. It only ever worked for the truly worthy; it was why the demon had never held the blade in her own hands. "Cauterize the wound," Mephistopheles instructed her.

"What?"

"Cauterize it. The fire is controlled by your will. It won't kill me."

Zadkiel looked at the blade again and back and Mephistopheles. "If it does, I swear to my Father I will find you in Purgatory to knock some sense into you." She swooped down for a kiss to end all kisses, a goodbye if this didn't work, and pressed the blade to the demon's injured side. Mephistopheles screamed into her lover's mouth, but she could tell it was working.

Looks like they would get to contact the Men of Letters together after all.


	4. Blast from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if the Winchester family didn't have enough to deal with, a whole new complication is unleashed.

_"No matter who you are or where you are, instinct tells you to go home."_

_Laura Marney, No Wonder I Take a Drink_

 

"You are in no condition to be scrying," Zadkiel said as she finished chaining the still-unconscious Crowley to one of the two wingchairs. She had repositioned it directly above a devil's trap and used chains designed to detail almost any supernatural beings, including angels, if used correctly. The King of Hell wasn't going anywhere, though he wasn't likely to while he was still unconscious.

"I'm using the cup of Jamshid," Mephistopheles said as she set the cup, which looked like something Indiana Jones drank from, on the oak dining table.  "All the power is in it, so I will be fine." Zadkiel must have finished Crowley, as Mephistopheles felt a cool hand at her lower back and the feeling of the angel's grace trying to heal her.

"You need to stop wasting your grace on me, Love," the demon said as she smoothed the world map on the table and finally resorted to using some of the heavier flatwear to keep it from curling up. "I'm going native, and that means more aches and pains."

"It's a renewable resource," the angel said, kissing her temple and sighing. "And it makes me happier to know you aren't in pain." Zadkiel's coffee-colored eyes scanned the room and looked again at the cup in front of them. "I still cannot believe that is real, that many of the things you have accumulated here are real. Chains that hold a demon, leviathan teeth, Excalibur—"

"Apparently, that last one is a fake," Mephistopheles said. "And the real one is in pieces. Some heavy-handed hunter decided up to blow up the stone when he couldn't pull it out." The cooling touch of the angel's hand moved to a new scar on the demon's torso. She might actually die of old age this go around, but there was no doubt the death would be peaceful if Zadkiel had anything to say about it. For as old as she was, the idea she could actually die seemed a ridiculously foreign concept.

She placed a kiss to the taller woman's jaw and smiled against her skin. If she could have this, even for a short time, it would be worth it.

There was a groan from the chair behind them. "So, this is why you left and let yourself go soft? You're getting kinky with an angel? Isn't that something like incest, being a former angel yourself?"

"If you had more of your memories of being a cherub, you would know it really isn't," Mephistopheles said. "And I wasn't even a seraph. I was a whole different kind of angel." And  _that_ was an understatement.

"I am curious what you're scrying for. I want to know where I can retrieve all these handy weapons later," Crowley said as he tested the chains and seemed both disappointed and impressed by how well they held him.

"Are you absolutely certain we can't just kill him?" Turning Crowley may have been Mephistopheles's idea, but it didn't mean she didn't find him incredibly annoying with his smugness.

"The devil you know," Zadkiel said. "And he came recommended by Gabriel."

Mephistopheles glanced over her shoulder at the King in his current "throne." "I am sure that is a piece of information you don't want getting out. Heaven supports your bid for power. How very scandalous."

"I don't ask for their vote, even if it helps me win. They're like the Tea Party to my Republican candidate. Speaking of which, you did an excellent job grooming the Koch family."

Mephistopheles shrugged at Zadkiel's questioning look. The other angel didn't follow politics much, since it grated her inclination for mercy and kindness.

The angel turned her gaze to the map. "This still has Prussia on it. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Shouldn't be," Mephistopheles said. "The land's still the basically the same, though what isn't is more a result of global warming."

"Do you think they will even help us?" Zadkiel asked. "Without plucking me dry of my feathers before they do?"

"We'll make them help.  Besides, there is enough in the haul to keep those bookworms drooling for decades." Mephistopheles began the incantation, the ancient language rolling off her tongue easily despite her vessel's German heritage. Behind her, she could hear a cantankerous-sounding Crowley insisting that they stop, which seemed natural for someone in his position. If he was half as smart as everyone claimed he was, he knew the value in this mansion and what sending it to the Men of Letters would mean.

"Well, we have a location," Zadkiel said as the map burned down to a small part of the northern United States.

"Why didn't you two listen to me?" Crowley asked, as though the answer wasn't obvious.

Mephistopheles glanced over her shoulder. "Because you have a vested interest, perhaps?"

"I have  _also_ been active these last few decades, something neither of you can claim. If you had been, you might know that the last place Abaddon was seen was the Men of Letters offices in the U.S. Or that she and the whole midwest branch went off the map afterward. Or that Lilith ordered the other bunkers and offices destroyed to prepare the coming of 'The Vessel.'"

It would make sense that Lilith would try to cut the Winchesters off from any easy knowledge on the supernatural, particularly on the topic of angels and demons. It was a move Mephistopheles, herself, might have made at a different time in her life. If Abaddon had gotten trapped somewhere with one or more of the men of Letters... then scrying using the Cup of Jamshid likely brought them all back. "We have to warn them," she said as she looked at the small scrap of paper on the table.

"I may be able to help," Crowley said. At the dubious expression each woman offered, he added, "Abaddon returning isn't exactly good news for me, either. She outranked me and had some mighty delusions of grandeur."

_Unlike you_ , Mephistopheles scoffed to herself. She picked up the scrap of paper and looked at the name of the town at the very center. "Then tell us everything you can about... Sioux Falls."

She didn't much appreciate it when Crowley began to laugh.

#

"What is that?" Dean asked, sniffing the air. "Pineapple and ham... no... bacon?"

Sam looked at him, dumbfounded. "How can you possibly do that?" he asked.

"It's a gift," the older brother replied as Bobby, surprisingly, took the fruity pizza. "Feeling a little Hawaiian today, Bobby?"

"It was His Majesty's request," the older hunter said with a roll of his eyes. "Apparently, he's had a hankering for it."

"Which one of the 'Majesties?'" Dean asked. They had four angels and a witch downstairs, so it was anybody's guess.

"It's for witchy-poo," Bobby said. "I'll take this along with the book on ancient voodoo practices, and the handful of angel feathers I've got lying around. We think they might help."

"I can supply more if you run out," Cas said, though Dean didn't want to ask him to do that. Last time they'd taken a few, it had done an obvious number on the angel. He'd looked green around his gills for days.

"We're good for now. And we have lots of other chickens we can pluck if we need to." And with those words, Bobby disappeared down the hall and out of the small confines that had become Dean's life lately.

"Pita!" Johnny yelled as his eyes widened at the prospect of one of his favorite foods. He might have been a little too young for it, but he'd gotten a taste and there was no turning the kid back from a piece of finely chopped pizza.

Cas gently ruffled the boy's hair as he walked to the kitchen to get Johnny's high chair. Dean had been getting increasingly worse, and getting out to the kitchen was pretty much impossible now. Yesterday he'd been yelling at Cas for hovering and today he was practically reliant on him. No one wanted to say it, but Dean knew if they didn't at least figure out how to get his body to stop attacking the pieces of Cas's grace that were embedded in his soul, Dean wasn't going to be around much longer. He'd been running a low fever all day and they were pretty sure a spell he'd had last night hadn't been just a fever dream but a minor seizure. Since any show of grace was pretty much a sure fire way to cause Dean pain, none of the angels had been able to confirm for sure.

Cas was keeping up a good front, but Dean saw the worry on his face when Cas thought he wasn't looking. They all had it, and he couldn't blame them.

The angel had Johnny's high chair in hand when a bright flash of light erupted from the hall, followed by the thud of what had to be a person's body. Being a hunter all these years, it was a familiar sound to Dean. Johnny was obviously curious about the new magic in the house; too much time around angels had made the boy immune to any fear that should have been natural in the situation. Dean hissed his boy's name and waved him over. The toddler came close enough that Dean was able to scoop him up into his arms and protect him, as best he could, from whatever had just landed in their home.

An unfamiliar voice asked breathlessly, "Which of you is John Winchester?" A lump caught in Dean's throat as his heart hammered in his chest. This man from nowhere was either asking about his father or his son, and neither of those could be a good thing.

The stranger moved into the hall just enough that Dean could catch a look at him. He was wearing a blue suit that looked like something out of Mad Men—Dean was stuck in bed all hours of the day, so he had started watching the series—and his hair and clean-shaven appearance only made him look all the more the part. He caught sight of Dean and repeated his question. "Please. Time is of the essence. Which of you is John Winchester?"

Dean watched as Sam backed himself up so he could get in reach of the shelf holding the demon killing knife and he could see Cas's arm, though nothing else, as it reached up and ripped off Zadkiel's amulet, then shucked out his angel blade from wherever it hid until he needed it. Surprisingly, though, the blade didn't raise in defense. Dean could almost picture Cas looking at the man in curiosity.

"None of us," Sam said, his arm behind him and grabbing the hilt of the knife. Technically, that was a lie, but anyone looking for Johnny would be going through all of them first.

"That's impossible. That's absolutely... what did I do wrong?"

"You rushed," Cas said, "but the intent of the spell still worked. But John is not here."

"Cas? If you know who this stranger is, you want to enlighten us?" Dean said as he continued to shield his boy. "Or maybe you could offer up a name, Mister."

"Not now, I'm thinking." The man looked to his hands and then the floor. He looked like he was doing some mental math as Cas finally stepped where Dean could see him to stop Sam from taking a threatening step forward. The angel placed his palm flat to Sam's chest.

"His name is Henry Winchester. Your grandfather." Cas looked over to Dean who was doing his very best not to look at the thirtysomething man in the hall in shock.

"John Winchester is your father?" the man, Henry, asked. He looked at Cas, curious how he'd known, but then looked between Dean and Sam hopefully. Dean wondered how old his dad was when Henry vanished. Maybe this was why the man had "run out" on John. Maybe he hadn't had the chance to come back. If that was true... it wasn't going to be easy to break ti to him that John was dead.

Henry's attention went back to Cas. "How could you possibly know who I am?"

"First let's start with how you popped through our front door," Dean said, feeling, even if he couldn't see, as angel after angel came up the stairs and closer to where he was. They probably left Azrael down with Patrick, because all of that angelic grace in the room at once was making him want to itch something deep under his skin. She wasn't actually an angel, and whatever she used to disguise herself might have fooled the angels, but it didn't fool this curse.

"I used a blood sigil. Blood to blood," Henry said. "Please. If you could take me to your father, he could explain. I could explain."

"Henry," Sam said, and Dean knew he was turning on the puppy dog eyes along with his placating tone, "you need to come in, sit down, and talk." He offered a hand to this Henry, this grandfather, but the man only stared at it and then up at Sam. "I'm sorry to be the one who has to tell you this, but our father. ... John. ... He passed away a few years ago. It's 2012, and he's been gone since 2006. We're his only sons, Sam and Dean."

Dean tried not to scoff at the idea that their father had "passed away," but he guessed it would be an easier pill to swallow than learning he sold his soul to save Dean. It was only his son's soft breath against his cheek that kept Dean from going to the dark place he always went to when thinking about the pointlessness of his father's sacrifice.

The weight of his now-squirming little boy in his arms made Dean all the more sympathetic when Henry looked ready to collapse at the news.  Though Dean and Sam had always known more about Tony Reville, the mechanic who had married John's mother, if this Henry had been even half a father to John, the news would gut him as much as it would Dean.

"You have to get me in touch with the others, then." Henry just now seemed to be noticing the people standing in the hall. Even though Henry couldn't possibly know they were angels, it still had to be intimidating.

"The others?" Sam asked.

"The other Men of Letters," Henry said with a tone that implied Dean and Sam should know what he was talking about and that he really didn't like mentioning this in front of so many possible outsiders. "Your father was one. He must have trained you as one."

"The Men of letters were wiped out by 1958," Metatron offered. Because, naturally, he would know this info better than anyone. "Systematic attacks to each bunker worldwide. Most had been moved here to the U.S. during the World War, but they were all either closed or fell into demonic hands."

"I have trouble believing that they are gone entirely. Surely John trained you. Do you know what level you would be?"

"Level?" the brothers asked simultaneously.

“In the Men of Letters. You were legacies. As your father was. As I was, and my father was.”

Sam glanced at Dean who raised an eyebrow. Legacies? They were something else because of their bloodline? Great. “We were raised as hunters. Our dad was a hunter.”

When this man who Cas swore was their grandfather actually huffed a laugh, like it was some sort of joke, Dean felt his hackles rise. “Hunters? No.” He shook his head and looked between them both quickly as though trying to piece together what he was seeing and hearing with what he knew was supposed to be the truth. "Hunters are neanderthals. You were supposed to be observers, studious."

"Observers?" Bobby asked with a snort. "These two?"

"This isn't right. I would have raised John to be a..." And then the realization hit him. Dean felt sorry for the poor bastard as his own son wriggled in his arms. "I take it that I don't make it back." Henry shook his head and started toward the door that had spat him out moments before. "I am sorry for wasting your time. I will go back now. Things will be different, but I  _will_  be there for John. I just need... there are ingredients." Dean watched as Cas placed a hand on Henry's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"You had to tap into your soul to travel in time that way. It needs a chance to recover. And I think we can all be of some help in determining what should be done next."

"You're family then, too?" the man asked. He still didn't seem to trust Cas, considering he didn't know he was an angel and couldn't really explain how anyone could know just by looking at him that he was Henry Winchester.

"I am."

Bobby cut in before Cas explained exactly  _how_  they were related. If Henry was from the Mad Men era, Dean wasn't so sure he'd be the first to get on the "I've got a bisexual grandson" bandwagon. "We're all family, in one way or another. These boys have a way of adopting people." Henry, for all his confusion, for all his worry about the fact that John wasn't there or that he didn't make it back, actually smiled just a bit. He even looked a little proud.

"It's good to know they aren't alone." Well, that was definitely a refreshing change from their other grandfather, who had been so derisive of Bobby that Dean had considered stabbing the man then. It didn't mean he had warmed up entirely to the man who had abandoned his responsibility to his family, but it at least pushed him over the very low bar set by Samuel Campbell.

Before they could get all warm and fuzzy being reunited as family, there was another bright flash of light. Dean heard very little, only a name: "Abaddon" and her reply that "a lady can realize when she is outnumbered."

After that, his world went black.

#

It was worse than he'd feared. He thought perhaps he'd gotten away from Abaddon or that she would be trapped by the spell. But, as Castiel said, he had been rushed and it hadn't been perfect. It had taken him years beyond his son's lifetime and had brought the demon who was not blood, nor was Josie, with him.

Josie...

Just one more hurt in an hour that had been full of them. He watched as she offered a crooked smile then actually looked at the men who had flooded the hall at Henry's appearance and ran. The angels pursued her, with one of them, the taller blond saying he thought she was dead and the shorter, dark-haired one saying he told him she wasn't.

She wasn't gone. She was traveling through time like a hitchhiker on Henry's spell. Henry was left wondering what he should do. It seemed pointless to follow after her with no idea of where she had gone and the fact that this place seemed to be well warded against most intrusions. He could wait for a time, convince the angels and the hunters to help him find the other Men of Letters who surely knew what to do with the box currently burning a figurative hole in his pocket. He knew if there were angels, then he should be able to get back. If they were willing helpers to his grandsons, why not to him as well?

So, instead, he followed the others into the room that looked part parlor and part library.

The injured man on the bed, his  _grandson..._ that didn't seem possible ... he was not well. Henry never thought he would have the opportunity to meet an angel, let alone find allies in the infamously distant supernatural creatures.  The man on the bed, Dean, was seizing. Henry had been friends with a boy prone to fits like the one he was witnessing, but there was something in the urgency with which Sam, the older man, and this Cas responded that led him to think this was not commonplace.

Cas had needed to put on an amulet before he touched the man on the bed, and when he did... it had been affectionate, but not the same as the brotherly and fatherly ways Sam and and the older man tried to take care of Dean and get the little boy safely away. Henry knew those touches; he had seen, given, and experienced them before. His mind was already reeling with his trip to the future, to an encounter with not just one but multiple angels, to the knowledge that his whole organization was gone, to the knowledge he had jumped beyond his only son's lifetime. He wasn't certain he was ready to rationalize how his grandson was obviously involved with another man, or a creature who looked like one, or how either of those options was acceptable for hunters who were not known for their reason or taking lightly the challenges to their masculinity.

He was exhausted and overwhelmed, but he could help by taking the boy—his great-grandson?—while the others tried to help the man on the bed. The older man handed the boy over reluctantly, seeming to weigh his options for a moment before placing child in Henry's arms. The boy didn't seem pleased by any of it, crying for his "Dada" as his arms reached out to the shaking form on the bed. Doing what he'd done for his son for years, Henry softly began singing "As Time Goes By" in the boy's ear.

It didn't stop the boy's distress completely, but his cries became quiet sobs even as he refused to take his eyes off of his father. "It's still the same old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do or die..." Both the boy and the man on the bed were settling down.  "The world will always welcome lovers, as time goes by." As Dean's green eyes opened Cas began to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, muttering words of affection in Enochian. An angel, then. So why wasn't he healing him?

"Dean? Are you with us?" the older man, the one Sam had called Bobby when they were trying to contain Dean's flailing without holding him down.

"Gotta keep the family away, Cas," Dean said. "Going to finish me quicker if they keep hanging around." He looked deathly pale as he looked around in a panic for the boy in Henry's arms. "Johnny? Did I hurt him?"

Henry's heart ached at the boy's name, but over the lump in his throat, he managed, "He's here. I've got him."

Dean didn't seem to have the energy to reach his arms up for the boy, but Henry happily placed him on the man's chest and offered a watery smile as he watched Johnny burrow his face against Dean's chest. John used to do the same to him and his mother. "I'm sorry I scared you, little man." It seem to take all the effort Dean had in him to lightly pat his son's back.

"Why aren't you healing him?" Henry asked of the angel currently running his hand through Dean's sweat-dampened hair. Henry might as well have smacked the angel for the way his question made the angel flinch.

"Because I can't," Cas said. "He was cursed to suffer pain any time I use my grace to heal him."

"Is that punishment for your relationship?" Henry asked. It was partly out of his own curiosity and partly out of a sense that he should protect his grandson from a relationship that, from the looks of it, was killing him.

Dean's anger flared. "No. Heaven's fine with us. They don't care we both have dicks. Your time worried way too much about that."

Heaven might not have cared, but Henry got the impression that times hadn't changed all that much, if the man's angry reaction cameas quick as that. "I mean because you're human and he's an angel. There are tales of what happened to the nephilim and those who betrayed heaven by having a relationship with a human."

The angel shook his head. "Heaven is surprisingly supportive. Perhaps too much. It was a witch's curse. One we're trying to break."

"Should've tried harder to kill the Irish bastard," Dean muttered.

"I can relay that information when I go back," Henry ventured. "Leave a letter or warn John, myself."

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it," Sam said, though it sounded like that was a bridge they weren't going to let him cross.


	5. A Little Help from My ... Friends?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting help from the demon who taught Lucifer how to create Lilith? How could that possibly be a good idea.

_"Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?" - Abraham Lincoln_

 

It would be the Winchesters. Everything always led back to them. Nothing Crowley did ever seemed to be good enough to put any distance between himself and those plaid-covered bastards. And he really wasn’t excited about the prospect of ending their little cease fire, not while they had a team of angels, including four archangels--a title Castiel did not deserve, in Crowley’s opinion--at their beck and call.

So far, Crowley had maintained his normal activities and done his best to stay out of the Winchesters’ way for months now. Now, thanks to trying to break into Mephistopheles’ cache, he was going to be going right into the lions’ den and bringing the demon who had orchestrated Lucifer’s fall from grace by teaching him how to warp Lilith’s soul into the very first Demon.

If that wasn’t waving a red cape at the bull, Crowley didn’t know what was.

“Maybe it would be a better idea if I went alone. Or, better yet, Zadkiel went to deliver the message that you two may have unleashed a literally unholy terror on this earth. The Winchesters might even be glad to hear that it wasn’t their fault this time.” He had to try. Anything would be better than bringing Mephistopheles to that house, “Or if you’re so insistent on going, leave me behind to guard the cache.”

“Let the fox guard the henhouse?” Mephistopheles asked. “I don’t think so.”

Crowley felt the pull as Zadkiel’s angelic grace pulled them from the stash to the American Midwest in less than a second. They reappeared in Singer’s yard, but not inside the house, which seemed like the best possible scenario, as it looked like all hell was letting loose inside.

“It looks like our warning will be too late,” Crowley said. “Best we go while we can, don’t you think?” It wasn’t cowardice. It was self-preservation. If Abaddon was inside the house at that very moment, and it sounded like she was, it was wise not to get on her bad side and end up dead.  Even if she didn’t kill him, he really didn’t want to be seen associating with angels or actually  _ helping _ the Winchesters. That was how kings lost their thrones.

“Duck and cover, then,” Mephistopheles said as she pointed to a heap of scrap metal. “You, too, Sparrow. I have an idea, but for it to work, you can’t be here.”

He didn’t have to be told twice, quickly finding cover and waiting for his chance to evade them both. The women had warded the stash before they left, but the protections were nowhere near as strong as the spells that had originally guarded Mephistopheles’s collection. He could break them and ransack the place to his greedy heart’s content.

The door flew open and a redheaded woman in a bloody gray dress toppled out of the front door. At first, Crowley thought she was staggering, but he quickly realized her steps were deliberate. She had sensed the damned devil’s traps they had littered throughout this place and was sidestepping it. He didn’t like her, but he could admit that he’d always been impressed with her.

“Abaddon!” came a voice that should not have been possible from Mephistopheles’s diminuitive vessel.  Crowley remembered that voice. It was commanding in a way that made you either stand at attention or piss yourself. Abaddon immediately responded with the former, despite the presence of four angels and two hunters at the door behind her. “Get to the base in Surat. Now!”

Abaddon seemed confused, though she was probably less so than any other demon might have been. For her, Mephistopheles had been out of the game for more than a decade; any other demon would have known she’d been gone for more than half of a century. Abaddon nodded stiltedly and then vanished. Crowley had forgotten how commanding Mephistopheles could be. There was no need for an explanation; if she gave an order, you obeyed it as quickly as possible.

Neither Gabriel nor Metatron seemed surprised to see Mephistopheles, but the instant Cas and the other one… Bartholomew… Balto… something like that… The moment they saw her, they turned murderous. The really creepy female one, though, she simply looked resigned and even a little disappointed in the way that only family could be.

Crowley made the misstep of thinking that all of this might just be distracting enough for him to make his getaway, but the moment he tried to zap himself somewhere safely away, Zadkiel grabbed him by his collar and dragged him over to Mephistopheles’s side. “On my list of things to do today, ‘not dying’ was very near the top.”

“What are you doing here?” Cas asked. The angel looked to be physically restraining himself from leaping over the porch banister to attack the woman standing in the grass below. Apparently, he had enough sense to try to get some useful information out of her before he killed her.

“I was hoping to warn you, but it appears we arrived a bit too late.” Suddenly, the imposing figure from before was gone and she was the embodiment of surrender. Her head was bowed slightly and her hands were extended, palms turned up to show she carried no weapon. “I was hoping to deliver some of my belongings to the Men of Letters, useful things that we did not want in the wrong hands.” She gestured in Crowley’s direction, which he found offensive. He was absolutely the  _ right _ hands for many of the goodies stored away in the safe house.

“A little warning would have been nice,” Gabriel said. “We could have sent a team to help.”

“Half of the items in my little storehouse would obliterate an angel. I needed humans, but I wasn’t aware that the Men of Letters had been disbanded.”

“Obliterated,” came a voice Crowley didn’t recognize from behind the group. “We were obliterated by Abaddon and other demons like her.”

“Then it sounds like a good opportunity to rebuild, doesn’t it?” Mephistopheles asked. “And I’m offering you a whole storehouse of artifacts to be protected and used against supernatural evils.”

Crowley couldn’t help but focus his attention on Castiel. His one-time partner in world domination looked frantic and kept looking back to the house. It was odd that neither of the Winchesters had come out to investigate--though the newcomer felt familiar enough that he could have been a relative for all Crowley knew--and the angel looked downright exhausted. Crowley would have taken bets that something was wrong with either Dean or their kid. Interesting.

“Must we…” Castiel’s eyes darted back toward the house. “Do we need to deal with this right now?”

Surprisingly, Gabriel looked hesitent and even serious. “This actually may be a blessing in disguise. If there is anyone who could help…”

“No! I will  _ not _ allow her near him.” Castiel, apparently, had a bit of the same authority in his own voice. Crowley wondered if that came from his recent promotion to archangel or if all angels could become so vehement when it involved their families.

“She’s been helping us for the last few years, and out of the demon game for decades,” Gabriel said.

“She broke  _ everything _ ,” Castiel said with not just the expected anger but a deep, very old sadness in his voice. “Lucifer got the blame, but she was the puppet master. I won’t let her in my home.”

“You aren’t going to have a choice,” the creepy female angel said. “He doesn’t have much longer.” It was obvious that Castiel didn’t want to listen, but when the angel of death tells you someone is about to die, you can’t ignore it.

#

Almost all of the angels, including Zadkiel, left for a nearby safehouse to continue the witch’s work on the spell and keep Crowley out of trouble. Only Castiel, wearing Zadkiel’s necklace that blocked his grace, and Azrael remained along with Dean’s family and Am--- no, she was Mephistopheles now, and a demon. Bobby was trying to calm Johnny, while Sam and Henry made certain that Dean did not injure himself as another seizure took him.

It had taken all of the angels in the house to throw Abaddon out, and that much angelic power had sent Dean’s condition into overdrive.

Now, he had to watch as Mephistopheles examined Dean with a surprising show of gentleness. Still, Castiel stood at the ready with his angel blade firmly in his hand if the demon so much as twitched the wrong way. She would occasionally hum to herself, and more than once, she closed her eyes and moved her hands as though attempting to knead dough or shape pottery.

“Can you undo the spell?” Castiel asked as Dean finally grew still on the bed. The man was drenched in sweat and his skin had taken on an ashy color.

“Not without rushing, and if I rush, I can’t be sure he will survive.”  The demon seemed to consider it for a moment.  “Normally, I’d suggest letting him die and hope that God would restore him to his factory settings. He has done so in the past for this family and for you, I’ve been informed. In fact, it appears that the last time he restored you he made you an archangel. But I’m not sure death is the best option this time.”

She placed her hand on Dean’s chest, and it was all Castiel could do not to rip her away from the man lying unconscious on the bed.  “Your options are to keep praying to God for a solution and hope God something before Dean ends up in heaven, where I assume he will go, or let me explain my solution without interrupting me. Because I know you won’t like my suggestion, even if it saves him from a painful death and even more painful, and brief, afterlife.”

“What do you mean painful afterlife?” Sam asked.

“This spell isn’t attached to his body. It’s latched on to his soul. It own’t just vanish once he dies. The pain he’s experiencing is his soul trying to get as far away from angelic grace as it can, and since it’s got grace running right through it, it’s trying to rip itself apart. Without a body to hold it together, among so much concentrated angelic grace, his soul would shatter apart into so many pieces, I think that God would struggle to find them all. If he’s quick… maybe,  _ maybe _ , he could restore Dean before that happens, but considering his lack of divine intervention so far, I can’t be sure he will rise to the occasion as quickly as Dean will need.”

“And your solution?” Castiel bit out.

“This spell was designed to attach to a soul, but Dean has not only a soul but a little thread of your grace acting as glue to repair the damage caused by his time in hell. Think of it like a swirled ice cream cone. Both parts are touching, but largely distinct. If they were blended--”

“No!” Castiel barked, refusing to hear more of this paln.  Dean treasured his humanity and would not want this.  He would not want to be some kind of  _ other _ .

“I  _ did _ warn you that you wouldn’t like it.  If it had been nearly any other human hit by this spell, they could avoid angels for however long it would take to find a counter-spell.”  She looked hiim in the eye, and he couldn’t help but think she was appraising him for something. He just didn’t know what.  “You began messing around with his soul and his very make-up. That isn’t my fault.”

“And how can I be sure you won’t try to make him another Lilith?” Casitle asked.

“Because I want to redeem myself. I don’t deserve it, but I am trying to earn His forgiveness.” 

“You’re right,” Azrael said, her voice impossibly cool, even for the normally detached angel.  “You don’t deserve it.”

“Luckily for me,  _ you _ aren’t the one I’m trying to get to forgive me,” she said.  “You and I never really got along, which was how I ended up where I am.”

“Your fate is not my responsibility. You made your own choices,” Azrael said. Castiel felt as though he was missing some context to the conversation between the two.

Mephistopheles paused and gave him that assessing look again. “Regardless, I won’t be the one doing it. Castiel will.”

“I can’t,” Castiel said, shaking his head. Dean would hate him for it. He’d never forgive Castiel for altering his make-up so significantly. Castiel was sure he wouldn’t forgive himself.

“Then ask him. See what he wants.” Mephistopheles placed her hand to Dean’s forehead. “This is only momentary relief,” she said. Green eyes fluttered open and looked first at her and then at Sam and Castiel.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said in confusion, then smiled. “Does that mean I’m fixed?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mephistopheles said. “I am just giving you a respite from the pain.”

“Um… thanks,” Dean’s voice croaked. Beneath her hand, Dean’s brow furrowed. “Who are you?”

“Someone who can help,” she said.

“That remains to be seen,” Castiel said. “This is Mephistopheles.”

“Isn’t that a big-wig demon name?” Dean asked.

“She is a fallen angel,” Castiel said.

“I’m a little more than that,” she said with a smile.  Azrael made a movement with her hand, but Mephistopheles did not even look up as she pointed to the angel. “I may be weaker, but that won’t work on me little sister.”

Some sort of realization dawned on Dean’s face. Castiel had to assume it had something to do with Azrael.  He’d suspected since the warehouse she wasn’t an angel like the rest of them, and given how close Mephistopheles’s powers had always been to God’s own, he had wondered about her for centuries.

“We can discuss this all in greater depth later, but first, we need to fix the spell by giving that soul of yours a good blend with Castiel’s grace,” Mephistopheles said.

“Not really hearing how that would make my situation better since the grace is kind of my problem right now.”

“The spell, as it was described to me, only works on human souls. The blend of grace and soul would create something new that isn’t a human soul any longer. It would be akin to a nephilim’s soul, though an admittedly diluted one.” Though Mephistopheles’s hand partially obscured Dean’s face, Castiel could still read his partner’s emotions. He saw the disgust, fear and anger.

Then, he saw Dean’s eyes go to Johnny in Bobby’s arms. Something unreadable came across his face followed by resignation. Castiel didn’t need to hear him say it to know Dean was at least halfway toward deciding to let this happen.

“If it makes you feel any more comfortable about it, I would not be the one doing this. I believe Castiel’s intent would go further to keeping you closer to who you are while allowing you to live.”

“And I won’t be hunted down and killed? Because I remember some old stories that heaven wasn’t so set on nephilim walking around.”

Sam and Bobby looked equally surprised that Dean seemed to be considering this, though Castiel did not know why. The man had done much more for his family in the past.  Henry appeared to be withholding his opinion, but looked at least curious at the idea.

“It’s been my impression that this is a kinder, gentler heaven. There won’t be any official edicts asking for your head,” Mephistopheles said. “There might be some rogues who want you dead because they hold to the old ways, but--let’s be honest--those angels probably want you dead for stopping the apocolypse, whether you’re human or not.”

“So what’s going to happen? No more soul? Do I get a set of wings?”

“I don’t know,” Mephistopheles said. “It’s a small amount of Grace. You could end up being no different, just a bit stronger or harder to kill. Or you could have a full set of wings and immortality to boot.”

“That isn’t exactly reassuring.” Dean looked to Castiel. “And no offense, but this isn’t something that you’ve done before.”

“I’m a very good teacher,” the demon said. “I taught Lucifer how to manipulate the human soul and he created Lilith on his first try.” She seemed to think better of the statement. “I should add that he was  _ aiming  _ to create a demon, that it wasn’t a botched job.”

Green eyes turned imploringly to Castiel. “I trust you to do this. And the people I’d trust to mess with my soul? It’s a real short list.” His hand lifted, only barely, off the bed toward the angel’s own.  Castiel clasped it and felt Dean attempt to squeeze his hand with a small flex of his fingers “Just don’t go messing with anything else,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “because we know this right here is damned near perfection.”

Castiel managed a small smile back, wanting to tell Dean that his joke wasn’t really much of a joke, not to the angel. But he knew Dean would just deflect the sentiment.  Instead, he raised Dean’s hand so that he could press his lips to the man’s knuckles.

“I will have to move back once Castiel starts his work, so I can’t promise you will stay conscious through all of this,” Mephistopheles said. “So, if you have anything to say, you should do it now.”

“Sam, Bobby, you take care of things if this all goes sideways. Don’t let this one...” Dean glanced at Castiel and moved their joined hands minutely.  “...blame himself if it does.” Bobby approached with Johnny, bringing the boy close enough so that Dean could tell him he loved him and that he would have to be good for his Tata, “just in case.”

It was Henry who offered to take the boy out of the room and somewhere that, hopefully, any cries of pain would not be heard. Castiel knew there would be limits to what they could do to help the man, but when it came to it, he swore he would try to offer whatever assistance they could. Unlike the brothers’ other grandfather, it was clear that family was a much bigger concept than just the wife and son he knew.

Then, Mephistopheles moved her hand away. Dean did not go back into unconsciousness or begin seizing again, but his tightly clenched jaw and twitching limbs were more than enough to show how much pain he was in.

“Get ready for your crash course, Castiel.”

#

Dean knew the moment that Mephistopheles’s powers stopped blocking the interference between his soul and Cas’s grace. It made sense, now, why it felt as though his body was being torn apart from the inside. Because it was.

It was so hard to keep his eyes open as the woman tried to explain to Cas what to do, and even though it was Dean who was in pain, Cas was the one who looked sick. Dean nearly told the demon to do the job herself; he didn’t want Cas living with the guilt, not if Dean died, not if he lived and wasn’t human anymore.

He’d clung so desperately to staying human. He’d defended humanity and its existence for years, and now, to save his life, he had to stop being one. Maybe there wouldn’t appear to be any real difference, but deepdown, there would be. There would have to be for the spell to stop working.

And Cas would blame himself for it, all because there was some bigger plan. Dean was really getting tired of these grand visions that involved his family. Even more frustrating was that Dean was sure it would all make sense if his brain wasn’t clouded in pain. The “big plan” seemed just outside of his grasp at the moment, but once his mind was clear again, he knew he would be able to piece it all together

Dean heard Mephistopheles telling Cas how this would all work, something about his grace and focusing on Dean’s soul. He’d have to take off the talisman that blocked his grace, which would probably send Dean back into another seizure. Great.

Cas sent him a worried look and Dean tried to smile back. He was sure it looked more like a grimace. “Love you,” he said, knowing he didn’t say it nearly often enough, and Cas deserved to hear it now. “No matter what happens. Always will.”

He watched the angel take a shuddering breath. “I love you, too,” he said as he leaned over the bed to press his lips to Dean. The kiss was soft and quick, but needed at the moment.

“Lucifer used his head,” the woman said, pointing to her temple. “He knew what he wanted to create and he forced Lilith to become that. My advice to you? Use your heart.” She pressed her hand to her chest, covering an unusual birthmark Dean could have sworn he’d seen somewhere, but his memory was as hazy as the rest of his thinking.

  
The pain flared to life again, and Dean knew the pendant was gone, that Cas’s grace was killing him, however unintentionally. Then, his world again went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the hiatus. Life caught up with me, and then season 11 happened making me want to tweak my original plans to mesh better with what the show was doing.


End file.
